


ricochet

by cabinfever



Series: towards a burning sun [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Finger Sucking, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Massage, Post-Canon, listen Noct really likes Ignis's hands, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 05:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14074446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabinfever/pseuds/cabinfever
Summary: The motions continue, digging into Noct’s muscles without causing too much pain, pulling the fatigue from him slowly and surely. With it comes a bone-deep warmth that travels through his whole body, turning his skin electric. He’s increasingly aware of every part of him that is touching some part of Ignis.Noctis struggles to return to some aspects of kingship; Ignis helps him relax.





	ricochet

**Author's Note:**

> another ashes fic! this can pretty much be viewed on its own as long as you know that noct got resurrected. enjoy! :)

It’s just a sword.

Noctis stares at it, shining up at him from a bed of leather in one of the Crownsguard training rooms. The Sword of the Father looks the same as always, winged and silver and black. It looks innocent. It looks sharp.

It looks deadly.

Beside him, Cor urges, “Pick it up.”

It’s right there, of course. It’s  _ right there. _ He can bend and pick it up if he wants to. But still his hand is itching to clench around the air and shatter the sword into his grasp. Noctis flexes his fingers for a moment, apprehensive, and then he reaches out to grab it.

He braces himself for the rush of magic that alerts him to the binding of his soul to the king to whom the glaive belonged. He braces for an impact he can’t see coming, sending phantom pains shooting through his chest.

But it never comes.

The sword is just a sword.

Noctis lifts the sword from the leather, holding it in the air so that it catches the light. It really does look like the weapon of a king. Maybe the gods did him a kindness when they left it with him when he came back to life in the throne room.

Gladio whistles. “Makes you look like a proper king, Noct.”

Noctis twirls the hilt experimentally in his hand, getting used to the blade’s balance once more. His father’s glaive is like coming home, really, underneath all the apprehension. He can ignore his misgivings enough to appreciate this piece of him that he still has left. “Think so?” he asks.

“Know so.” Gladio hefts his own greatsword against his shoulder, grinning at Noct. “Think you’re ready, Princess?”

“That’s ‘Your Majesty’ to you, thanks.”

“Gimme a break.”

Noct rolls his shoulders, loosening them up. “Is live steel really the best for this?”

Gladio shrugs. “We used it often enough when we trained at camp.”

“We had potions and elixirs, Gladio.”

“We have medicine and science here. The world had its own solutions while we were busy enchanting energy drinks.”

“Besides,” Cor says, coming up behind Noctis. His voice is all at once very close. “From what Gladio has told me, you wouldn’t need them much anyway.”

Noctis turns and raises an eyebrow at Cor. “What Gladio has told you?” he repeats quietly. “He’s told you?” He shifts his grip on the hilt of his father’s sword, and the cords beneath his skin pull and tense against the healed scar where the sabertusk had latched its teeth into his skin. There’s hardly anything there now.

Cor nods. And there it is: that glint in his eyes for just a heartbeat of redness, gleaming through the illusion of blue.

Noctis grins. “More than one immortal here now, Cor.”

“Don’t get cocky; we all die sometime.” Cor strikes at him with an experimental swipe of his katana, drawing it in half a heartbeat.

Quickly, Noct raises his father’s sword to deflect the blow, savoring the familiar clang of steel on steel. It’s been so long since he’s fought anyone; the magic of it sings in his bones. “Some more than others.”

“Poor form,” Cor tells him, frowning at Noct’s hand. He’s unfazed by the jab, apparently. That’s the soldier-strong control he has, for sure. “Check your grip.” He steps back swiftly and sheathes his blade again. “Gladio, run him through the basics.”

“Gladly.”

And then Gladio’s coming at him with sword and shield in hand, prodding at Noct with experimental swings. Noct knows these tricks from their training a decade ago on the flat stone of havens: Gladio’s baiting him. When he was twenty and reckless, maybe he would’ve tried his luck. Today, though, he bides his time, waiting for Gladio to come to him.

Gladio catches on and changes tactics, bracing his feet to swipe at Noctis in a wide, sweeping arc of his greatsword. Noct jumps backwards to get out of the way, nearly wincing at the way that the sword displaces the air around it in a massive wave. It blows his hair back; Noct takes advantage of the recovery time Gladio will need to get his blade back into position and lunges, bringing the sword down with a savage yell.

His father’s sword skitters off the edge of the shield; Gladio parries it easily, smacking him in the chest with the flat of his blade. 

Noct wheezes out a breath as he’s knocked backwards; he nearly loses his grip on the Sword of the Father. He regains his balance, clutching at the hilt tightly. He glares at Gladio.

“You’re out of practice,” Gladio tells him.

“Just playing with you,” Noct retorts.

And then Cor is there, adding his blade to the mix. Gladio ducks deftly out of his way, grinning at Noctis with hardly a hair out of place. He’s replaced by the aggressive, ferocious speed of Cor Leonis, who presses his attack with grim determination. It’s all that Noct can do to hold his ground before he’s stepping backward, fully aware that he’s letting the Marshal push him into a corner. 

There’s only so much one can do against the Immortal, after all.

On a whim, he pours magic into one of his strikes, letting it burn through his veins until it reaches the hilt of the sword in his right hand. The blade almost glows red as Noct whips it through the air, aiming for Cor’s chest.

Cor’s lightning-bright eyes flash, and he halts Noct’s blow with shocking swiftness, sending vibrations up Noct’s arm at the impact. “Nice trick,” he comments, “but I think you can do better than that.”

Noct growls and redoubles his efforts.

He dodges out of the way of a lazy shield strike from Gladio, ducking out of Gladio’s reach and using his body as a momentary respite from Cor’s attacks before he dives out from behind his Shield, aiming once more for the Marshal.

Cor’s ready for him; he catches Noct’s blade on the sheath of his katana, and there’s almost a smile in his eyes in the brief moment when the two of them are locked together, struggling to push the other away.

Noct rips his sword away and drops to the ground, rolling down past Cor and bracing himself for another attack. If he times this right, maybe he has a chance of catching him off guard.

He leaps up, already committing to his swing-

And Cor’s expecting him.

Cor stops just short of goring Noctis through completely. His blade rests carefully against Noct’s stomach, though, slowly fraying through the cotton of his shirt. The point of it is sharp against Noct’s skin when he inhales.

“You almost killed me,” Noctis pants, heart pounding.

Cor frowns down at the blade, then back up at Noctis. “I did. And that’s a problem.”

Noct scowls. He steps back from Cor and turns away, running his free hand through his hair. “Are you this brutal with Prompto?”

“Prompto doesn’t do much blade training; guns are Dustin’s job.” Cor twirls his sword in his hand; the steel gleams wickedly in the lights before he sheaths the blade in a single fluid motion. “You need practice.”

“That’s what I’m doing right now,” Noct snaps.

Cor’s eyes narrow. “Go for now; you’re not focusing.”

“I’m trying.”

“You’re resisting, Your Majesty.” Cor’s strong hand lands on his shoulder, and Noct shrinks under the force of his pale-sky gaze. “Get some rest.”

Noct protests, “The sword-”

“Leave it,” Gladio says. “We’ll take care of it.”

Noct scowls, but he nods anyway. “I’ll see you later.” He raises one hand for a fist bump with Gladio, handing the Sword of the Father off to him with the other, and he leaves the training room before his instincts tell him to stay and hold his ground. He’s the king, after all - why should he be beholden to the whims of his inferiors?

That’s a dangerous thought; he shakes his head a bit to clear it from his mind. Maybe he does need some more practice, especially with his father’s glaive. The action aggravates a muscle he must have pulled at during training, sending an ache radiating down his spine. He winces. “Just my luck,” he mutters to nobody in particular, but he hopes that the gods in particular hear his ire. 

He trudges out to the elevators, not even bothering to stop for a shower. He was hardly training long enough for it to be necessary. The few Citadel officials that are still around bow when they see him, muttering a quiet “Majesty” to him when he passes. Noct acknowledges them with a nod and a quick salute, fully aware that he must look like a mess with his wild hair and sparring clothes.

By the time he makes it to his living quarters near the top of the Citadel, his back is complaining loudly to him. Noct wonders if this is the new way that the Royal Arms will affect him now. He throws open the door to his suite, blinking at the sudden change in light. The room is completely dark.

Ignis looks up; he’s curled in a chair by the window, lit by faint moonlight. There’s a thick tome sitting in his lap, spread open beneath his fingers. His hair is flat against his forehead tonight. “Noct,” he greets warmly, slipping a leather bookmark between the pages. “I hadn’t expected you for some time.”

“You were sitting here in the dark?” Noct asks. He flicks on one of the lamps that he passes on the way in, bathing the room in warm, dim golden light. 

In the new light, Ignis’s right eye flashes jade. “Well, best not to waste power.”

“I’m the king. You can use all the power you want.” Noct strides across the room to Ignis and places a finger beneath his chin, bending down to kiss him chastely on the lips. “That’s an order. Or something.”

“Or something,” Ignis echoes. “You’re home early.”

“Cor sent me home. Said I’m not focusing.”

“Not focusing?” Ignis closes his book, tracing idly along the spine with deft fingers. “It  _ has _ been a while since you last fought, I suppose.”

“It’s not that.” Noct folds his arms and frowns out the window at the city. “I fought with daggers out in the city once. With Gladio. I was fine with that.”

“But now…?”

Noct gnaws thoughtfully at his lip. “It’s my dad’s sword.”

“It’s not the same,” Ignis guesses. “Or you fear it.”

“Something like that.”

Ignis blinks up at him, brows creasing into a concerned frown. “What can I do to help?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” Noctis admits. He glances down at Ignis, bathed half in golden lamplight and half in the silvery glow of the moon and cityscape. “I’m happy just being with you.” And it’s the truth; Ignis’s company has always been soothing enough as it is. Already, some of the tension drains from his shoulders, chased away by the scent of Ignis’s cologne and the sight of him curled up in a chair, waiting for Noct to come home.

“Then you’re in luck,” Ignis says, “because I’m right here.”

“Thank the gods for that.” Noct uncrosses his arms. “We can talk about this later.”

“Later,” Ignis agrees amiably. “Here.” He wraps his fingers around one of Noct’s wrists, standing to meet him. “You need to relax. I can help.”

“Can you now?” Noct asks, and he smiles despite himself. He reaches out with his free hand and tangles his fingers in Ignis’s hair, urging him closer. He steals a kiss because he can, slipping his eyes shut when he finds Ignis’s mouth to be warm and receptive. He lets himself melt into it for a minute, slowly exploring Ignis with lips and tongue and hands, before he draws back. “What did you have in mind?”

“First,” Ignis says, “we get out of these clothes.” He’s one to talk; he’s already dressed comfortably in one of Noct’s well-worn T-shirts, filling it out just a bit more with his broader shoulders and long, lean frame. It’s still long enough to dip past his waistline, though, revealing little glimpses of the underwear he’s got on underneath it. It’s an outfit - if Noct can even call it one - that the Ignis of ten years ago would never be caught dead wearing.

He seems comfortable enough in it now, though, stepping lightly around Noct to rub experimentally at Noct’s back. He hums in disapproval at what he finds. One of his hands reaches up, questing for a moment before finding purchase in Noct’s hair. “Take off your shoes, Noct, would you please?”

“‘Course,” Noct says, toeing off his shoes and socks. “Floor’s cold,” he mutters.

Ignis chuckles, moving back around to face Noct. He combs his fingers through Noct’s hair for just a bit longer, smiling when Noct turns his head into the touch. “I’m sure you’ll get used to it.” He drops to his knees gracefully, blinking up at Noctis with a wide, silver-green eye. “Shall we begin?” he asks quietly.

Noct nods, but then he affirms aloud, “Yes.” To reinforce it, he tucks a few strands of honey-brown hair back behind Ignis’s ear, running his thumb along the rough skin on the left side of his face. Without his glasses, Ignis is radiant, and the full span of his scar is on display. Noct appreciates that Ignis is willing to be so vulnerable in the space that they share. 

After permitting the touch for a few moments, Ignis returns to the task at hand, and he pulls down Noct’s pants, clinical but slow. He leans in close and kisses Noct’s thigh, just at the point where his bare skin meets the hem of his underwear. Noct shivers; Ignis grins against his skin. He runs a hand along the full length of Noct’s thigh as he stands, and he’s got a reverent sort of look in his wide-open eye when he does it. Noct permits the touch; he knows his muscles are tight with anticipation there, tended for something he can’t quite predict. Ignis has always loved when he can feel Noct’s power beneath his skin.

Ignis goes for the hem of Noct’s shirt next, trailing his fingers along the plane of Noct’s stomach, but he stops nearly as soon as he begins. “What’s this?” Ignis asks, frowning. His fingers skitter over the little puncture, tracing it lightly without pressing too much.

Noct sighs. “It’s nothing. Just training.”

“With live weapons?”

“Cor wouldn’t have hurt me.” The wound will disappear soon enough, anyway, healed by some feral burst of magic he can’t quite predict.

“Well, that’s not the point.” Ignis’s lips twist into something suggesting a frown even as he continues to lift Noct’s shirt over his head. Absently, he leans close and dips his head, kissing open-mouthed over Noct’s collarbone. “You’re still the king of Lucis, Noct,” he reminds Noctis, breath hot against Noct’s skin.

“Isn’t the risk the fun part?” Noct asks.

“Not for some of us.” Ignis crumples Noct’s shirt in his hand.

While Ignis is distracted, Noct takes the opportunity to slide his hands beneath his shirt and get reacquainted with Ignis’s body. Ignis’s skin is already hot to the touch, furnace-warm in the comfort of the bedroom, and when Noct presses down, he finds the muscle underneath. He’s lanky and lean and strong even now that there’s no war to fight. Noct places a hand over Ignis’s heartbeat. “Okay, okay. My turn.”

“You’re pushy today.”

“I was promised relaxation,” Noct says. “I intend to get that.”

Ignis laughs, light and quiet, and it sends something fluttering through Noct’s heart. “As if I would forget.”

“This is my shirt,” Noct tells him while he strips it from Ignis, lifting it over his head slowly. He kisses the tip of Ignis’s nose when he’s done it, grinning at the way the motion has messed up Ignis’s hair, sending it in all directions and down across his forehead. “I’ll be taking it back.”

“How else am I to remember you when you’ve gone away to train?” Ignis asks softly. “When I change the bedsheets, they don’t smell like you anymore.” He takes the shirt from Noct’s hands, and Noct lets him, grinning when Ignis tucks it away between their pillows. 

“You go away just as often.”

“Ah, but you have photographs.”

“Touche, I guess.”

“You guess,” Ignis snorts. “Is this where all of the years of diplomacy training have gone?” He prods Noctis towards the bed.

Noct obeys without complaint, clambering up on the mattress. He sits back, leaning on his hands, studying Ignis in the low lamplight. It’s not often that he just lets himself admire Ignis and stop his restless mind, and even less often that Ignis submits to the scrutiny. Usually, he’d just wave off the gaze he can always feel, murmuring some quiet joke or platitude as he moved out of the way. Modest and graceful and elusive: that’s Ignis for sure.

Tonight, though, Ignis submits to the investigation as he steps around the room, clad only in his simple black underwear. The lamplight makes his skin golden; it turns his scars to fire, stark against the rest of his face, proof of how he burned to save Noctis so long ago.

If he moves a little more slowly than usual when stretching to put away his book, well, Noct’s not going to complain about it. He gets to savor the languid stretch of the muscles in Ignis’s back as he lifts the book up.

“I can feel you watching me, you know,” Ignis says, and his voice is at just the level of lowness that sends chills down Noct’s spine.

“Then get over here if you don’t want me to.”

“Well, I never said that.”

“You’re enjoying the attention,” Noct teases.

Ignis turns to him, raising an eyebrow that disappears beneath the stray strands of his hair. “My lips are sealed,” he says, and a soft smile plays upon his lips, but he comes to the bed anyway, deftly climbing over the wood of the footboard to land on the mattress. He crawls forward until he’s on his knees in front of Noct, bracing his hands lightly on the tops of Noct’s knees. 

“Relaxation?” Noct suggests, but not before he stretches upwards to kiss Ignis for a moment, slow and warm and satisfying.

Ignis blinks thoughtfully for a moment, sitting back on his heels. “As promised, Majesty,” he murmurs, and one of his thumbs rubs idly at the smooth skin on the inside of one of Noct’s thighs. He tilts his head to the side while he thinks, but then his eye lights up with the promise of an idea. “Here. Up on your knees. Hands up on the headboard; let’s find the problem.”

Noct obliges, sitting up. He stays there for a moment, rolling his shoulders a few times before turning and wrapping his fingers around the headboard. He settles his knees a bit, shifting his weight back and forth to gain proper purchase in the sheets before looks over his shoulder at Ignis. “I don’t think this is how most massage therapists do it.”

“No?” Ignis asks, smiling. He raises his hands and rests them at Noct’s shoulders, spreading his fingers across Noct’s skin. His touch is pleasantly warm and soothing, and Noct immediately relaxes, just a little bit, into his presence. “Better already,” Ignis murmurs, and he presses his thumbs into the muscle at the top of Noctis’s spine, spreading them outward and along the cords of the muscle.

Noct sighs. It does feel divine, actually. The well-worn calluses on Ignis’s fingers rasp just a little against his skin, and he knows Noct well enough to dance around the places that bother him too much. If the magic weren’t gone from the place where the armory was, Noct could almost swear that Ignis is using elemancy to conjure heat beneath his fingers. Or maybe he’s just that good. The motions continue, digging into Noct’s muscles without causing too much pain, pulling the fatigue from him slowly and surely. With it comes a bone-deep warmth that travels through his whole body, turning his skin electric. He’s increasingly aware of every part of him that is touching some part of Ignis.

Whenever one of Ignis’s fingers digs into a particularly stubborn muscle, Noct chokes back a gasp at the simultaneous relief and pain it brings. The warring sensations bring a warm heat to pool in his stomach.

“How do you feel?” Ignis asks quietly, just inches from Noct’s ear.

For a moment, Noct struggles to find his voice. He’s drifting between bliss and something warmer, lost in everything  _ Ignis  _ around him. “Good,” he manages roughly, and he shifts backwards, just a little bit, until he can feel Ignis’s hips against his. He thinks, distantly, that maybe Ignis is getting hard too.

There are parts that Ignis touches that have always been sensitive, and that send sensation sparking through his veins. In the center of his back, the ragged starburst where his father’s sword pierced him to bring back the light: Ignis attends to that carefully, even dipping his head to kiss the center of the spot. All along Noct’s spine, there are the old aches and pains from his injury as a child, but Ignis knows Noct and he knows what he’s doing. His fingers dip in along the grooves of Noct’s spine, rubbing the weariness from his bones, if only for a time. 

By the time Ignis makes it to the bottom of Noct’s spine, Noct’s breathing has picked up. He runs his own thumbs along the smooth wood of the headboard to get his bearings, sighing out a low, “Ignis.”  He’s not sure what he’s trying to say.

“Off with these, I think,” Ignis says, running his finger along the border between Noct’s skin and the waistband of his briefs. Noct’s so aware of Ignis’s touch by now that he shudders and nods heavily, trusting Ignis to get the message. Ignis’s fingers hook in the elastic and tug down the briefs, sliding them down Noct’s thighs and past his knees. Ignis tosses them off to somewhere Noct really couldn’t care less about, though he is surprised that Ignis is just letting them disappear somewhere.

But he can’t be bothered right now.

For just a moment, Noct is worried that Ignis is just going to return to his shoulders. But Ignis never disappoints, and he knows what Noct needs, and he wraps his fingers around Noct, thumbing thoughtfully at the head of his cock for a moment. Noct shudders.

“Like that,” he rasps. “I like that.”

“I know you do,” Ignis tells him, and he strokes downward, spreading some of Noct’s precome down the shaft. 

“What about yours?” Noct asks. He’s referring to Ignis’s underwear, but he can’t exactly find the words for that right now, so he hopes that Ignis will understand.

“In due time.” Ignis’s strokes get firmer, picking up a slow rhythm that has Noct breathing faster, moving his hips to chase the sensation. “But I’m here for you right now.”

“Good thing you are, because I’m the king, and I order that you keep doing that.”

“But of course, Majesty.” Ignis doesn’t removes his hand, but his touch gets lighter, just barely teasing along the head of Noct’s cock. It’s maddening, and try as Noct might to thrust up into Ignis’s hand, Ignis holds him back with his other arm. “But if it’s kingly responsibilities you want,” he says conversationally, “I can happily oblige.”

Noct grits out, “Specs-”

“There’s work to be done in the financial sector. Perhaps we can look at it later.”

“Specs.”

Ignis presses a kiss between his shoulder blades; Noctis can feel his smile against his skin. “You’re still tense,” he observes quietly. “I don’t think you’re listening to my report.”

“You’re impossible,” Noctis tells him, finding his voice. If it’s a little ragged, neither of them make any mention of it. “You gonna do something or what?”

“Was I not already?” Ignis’s fingers still and withdraw. “How ignorant of me.”

Noctis groans and presses his hips forward, chasing the sensation. He finds nothing but air, though, held fast by a strong arm around his waist, kept away from the headboard where he could steal some friction if he were that desperate. “Ignis,” he breathes. “Ignis.”

Without a trace of remorse, Ignis asks, “Hm?”

_ “Please.” _

Ignis must hear how utterly wrecked he is already, because he resumes with renewed vigor, obeying without complaint. With every pass, Noct can’t help but watch how deftly Ignis’s fingers work on him. He licks his lips, thinking about what else Ignis’s hands have done: braided his hair, killed for him, worked him open until all he can feel is Ignis  _ inside- _

His cock twitches in Ignis’s hand at the thought.

Ignis ruts up against him, destroying any semblance of doubt that he’s interested.

And it’s nice like this, and  _ gods,  _ he could end up coming just like this, but they could be doing so much more. Noct arches his back, forcing his ass up even closer to Ignis’s cock, feeling the hard line of him between his cheeks. 

Ignis makes a soft, desperate noise into his ear and buries his face in Noct’s neck, mouthing at the skin there. His hips twitch, like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Noct,” Ignis groans into Noct’s ear. 

“Get the fucking-” Noctis takes a second to catch his breath and reaches back to tap Ignis on the thigh. “The lube.”

Ignis nods, but he stays with Noct for a moment longer. He nips at Noct’s earlobe until Noct whines, then kisses his cheek. It’s surprisingly chaste in the midst of their desperation, and somehow it only makes Noct love him more. “Don’t touch yourself,” he warns, and then he takes his hand from Noct’s cock, leaving him exposed.

Noctis nearly sobs at the lack of contact.

Gods, he must look like a mess right now. He’s clutching at the headboard with both hands, knees spread in the sheets, breathing like he’s been fighting for hours. But it’s all Ignis, intoxicating and calculating and all too able to pull him apart. Noct hangs his head, trying desperately to focus on the sounds of Ignis rummaging around in their bedside drawer. “Can you hurry?” he asks through gritted teeth.

Ignis approaches once more, lube in hand and underwear removed. “Apologies,” he murmurs. He takes Noctis by the chin and kisses him roughly, and it’s so good that Noctis doesn’t even mind that Ignis is using the hand that he’d been stroking him with. He finds that he doesn’t quite hate it when Ignis’s fingers leave traces of his own precome on his jaw. Ignis positions himself behind Noct again after they part for air, closing the distance between them so that he’s practically folded over Noct’s back.

“Here-” Noct takes Ignis’s free hand and brings it back behind himself to where they’re nearly joined. He presses one of Ignis’s fingers against his entrance, hissing at the touch. “Can you?”

Ignis’s fingers stay there, and for a moment it almost feels like he’ll get to work, but he draws the fingers away, ignoring Noct’s whine. “No time,” he hisses, and his hips buck up behind Noct, bringing them even closer. Noct can feel the urgency of his need. “Thighs?” he asks.

“Fine, fine, yes, just fucking  _ do it,”  _ Noct urges, and he takes his other hand from the headboard to fumble with the lube that Ignis has left on the bed sheets beside them, “Hand,” he orders, and one of Ignis’s roving hands comes into view; Noct takes it and deposits some of the lube on his fingers. He smears some of it on his own hand and tosses the bottle aside. “Ignis,” he begs.

Ignis’s hand, warm despite the cool lube, reaches between Noct’s thighs, reverently tracing the skin and scars there. “Absolutely beautiful,” he murmurs.

Noctis can’t wait any longer. He reaches back, guided by every instinct that is named  _ Ignis,  _ and he takes Ignis’s cock in his hand, stroking him with lube-slick fingers. By his ear, Ignis breathes out something that might be Noct’s name. Noct guides Ignis’s cock down past the cleft of his ass until Ignis is positioned right at the juncture of his thighs. He shifts his knees in the bed sheets and brings his legs closer together, pushing his ass backwards until his hips meet Ignis’s.

“A bit closer together, love, that’s it,” Ignis encourages, running his hands up and down the outsides of Noct’s thighs. He’s right, as he always is: it’s just the right amount of pressure, and Ignis’s cock drags between his thighs in a torturously slow rhythm. “That’s wonderful, Noct. You’re wonderful.” He already sounds wrecked. His hips snap forward, momentarily out of control, and they both groan.

Instead of touching him, Ignis explores Noct’s body. One hand holds on firmly to Noct’s hip as he fucks in between his thighs, but the other, the one not covered in lube, trails up, up, up, tweaking at a nipple until Noct moans. Then his touch, restless and stuttering with the rhythm of his thrusts, roves higher until his fingers spread along the long exposed arc of Noctis’s neck, just barely applying pressure. 

Noct gasps, desperate for more of Ignis’s fingers on him, in him,  _ anywhere.  _ He releases the headboard for a moment to grab Ignis’s wrist, bringing the hand up to his own lips. 

It’s his left hand; Noct finds the finger that wore the Ring of the Lucii, and he kisses all along the arc where it had been, open-mouthed and filthy.

“Noct,” Ignis hisses, and the way that his hips jerk out of rhythm tells Noct that he knows exactly what Noct’s doing.

Noctis smiles breathlessly against Ignis’s skin and takes two of Ignis’s fingers between his lips, sucking on them in time with Ignis’s thrusts. It’s exactly as intoxicating as he’d imagined it being, and he runs his tongue between the digits, determined to savor every moment of this he can get. 

If he thinks hard enough, he can imagine taking Ignis apart like this, pinning him down and teasing him with this until he’s begging to have Noct’s lips around his cock. Maybe he can get Ignis to shut him up one day with just his fingers in Noct’s mouth, commanding him, keeping him quiet and obedient and  _ his.  _ The thought alone makes Noct moan around Ignis’s fingers.

Ignis picks up his rhythm, spurred on by Noct’s tongue on him. “Noctis,” he groans, and his thumb strokes along the corner of Noct’s mouth, urging him onwards.

Gods, it feels so fucking good. Untouched for a few minutes, his cock twitches and drools precome, and Noct can’t take it anymore. He releases Ignis’s fingers from his mouth and begs, “Touch me.”

Wordlessly, Ignis wraps his spit-slick fingers around Noct’s cock and strokes him from root to tip. Noct cants his hips up to chase the feeling, savoring the desperate slide of Ignis’s cock between his thighs.

“Yes,” Noct moans, and he lets his head fall backwards. Ignis is right there, panting beside him, and it’s an awkward angle, but Noct’s desperate to get as much of Ignis as he possibly can, so he kisses Ignis, open-mouthed and hot. He gasps his pleasure against Ignis’s lips as they move together, sharing shallow breaths.

It’s fast and it’s desperate and it’s fucking  _ beautiful,  _ and Noct loves every moment of it.

They chase their pleasure together, perfectly in sync. Every time Ignis thrusts forward, the head of his cock bumps up beneath Noct’s balls. Curses fall from Noct’s lips when that happens, and the words turn to nonsense before becoming  _ Ignis, Ignis, Ignis- _

Soon enough, though, Ignis’s strokes fall out of rhythm, and so do his hips. It’s graceless in a way that he rarely is, and that in itself is beautiful.

When he comes, Ignis groans and bites down on Noct’s shoulder. It’s not nearly hard enough to draw blood, but it’s enough that it has Noct keening, reaching back to tangle his fingers in Ignis’s hair with one hand and gripping the headboard with all his might with the other. 

Ignis halts for a moment, catching his breath and mouthing slowly at Noct’s shoulder. He splays his fingers against Noct’s stomach, digging in just a bit. His hips still jerk forward irregularly, working out the last of his orgasm between Noct’s thighs. 

Desperate now for anything approaching pleasure, Noct thrusts forward into the air, begging, “Ignis, please.” He reaches down from the headboard and strokes himself quickly, sloppily, gasping Ignis’s name again. It’s not as good as Ignis; it never is, but he’s so close he can hardly stand it.

“Noct,” Ignis sighs into his ear, breath hot and voice impossibly filthy and tender. “Noct.” His other hand finds Noct’s cock once more, urging Noct’s fingers away. “I’ve got you.” 

And  _ gods, _ that’s Ignis’s come that he’s using to keep Noct slick, and Noct moans, bucking his hips, fucking Ignis’s hand as he chases his release. Ignis encourages him through it all, calling him  _ beautiful  _ and  _ Noct  _ and  _ Majesty. _

When Noctis comes, he chokes out Ignis’s name, saying it over and over as Ignis’s fingers pull the orgasm out of him. His release spills across Ignis’s fingers and his stomach and their nice sheets, painting them white. Noct can barely breathe with the force of it, trying to get as close to and as far from being touched as he possibly can. Everything is too good, too much, too perfect.

“That’s it,” Ignis half-slurs, and he gives Noct a final stroke before letting go of him, finding purchase on a hipbone instead.

Noct bows his head, panting, still holding on to the headboard like a lifeline. 

The two of them stay like that for a minute, breathing heavily against each other. Other than the headboard, Ignis is probably the only thing holding Noct up, keeping him from falling boneless onto the sheets. One Noct parts his thighs a bit, and Ignis slides out from between them, hissing at the stimulation it must bring him. Noct sighs, shivering, and lifts his head, leaning it back against Ignis’s shoulder.

Ignis kisses his neck, and then his cheek, and then his temple. It’s all on the right side of his face, sending electric twinges of feeling through the scarring there. Noctis shudders at the sensation. “I’ll be right back,” Ignis promises, and he kisses Noct’s earlobe in a little farewell. Noct tilts his head towards Ignis even as he draws away, chasing the touch, but Ignis has left him on the bed. 

The water runs in the bathroom, startling after every sound being so organic and so close for so long. Ignis must be running the tap to clean them up. And for good reason: Noct’s got a mixture of his and Ignis’s come on his thighs, on his stomach, and on the headboard and sheets. Noct scowls at the sight of it, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and bliss.

“Doing alright?” Ignis asks quietly from across the room. When did the tap stop running?

Noct turns around to look at Ignis. He’s lit all in gold, skin flushed a warm pink all over. “Never better,” he manages, finding his voice.

“That’s a bit dramatic,” Ignis says, returning to the bed with a damp cloth in hand, “don’t you think?” He follows up the teasing with another soft kiss, this time to Noct’s hairline. “But it’s good to hear.”

“And you?”

“I could never complain about a night with you, Noct.”

Noct grins, still trying to steady his breathing. “I don’t think I can complain about anything you do.”

“In the morning,” Ignis says, carefully running the cloth over Noct’s skin, “I’ll give you a proper massage.”

“It was good already,” Noct protests, but he adds, “but I’m not about to say no.”

“I’ve spoiled you,” Ignis tells him fondly. 

“Shouldn’t have offered,” Noct counters, and he flops over on his back once Ignis is done with him, letting his eyes fall shut. He’s blissed-out and exhausted, but he still manages to say, “Come to bed. Stop cleaning.”

“I’ll need to change the sheets again,” Ignis says, but he turns off the lamp and climbs into bed anyway after tossing the washcloth back into their bathroom. He slides in between the sheets, pushing one of the pillows atop the rest of the mess they’ve left. 

“Thought you liked when they smelled like me.”

“I also like when they’re clean. I’ll manage without basking in your scent for the sake of my own comfort, and yours.”

“Here.” Noct reaches between the pillows and tugs out the shirt of his that Ignis had been wearing earlier. He shrugs it on as well as he can while still remaining prone, keeping it hiked up at the top of his chest. “I’ll sleep in this.”

“You’re a benevolent king,” Ignis teases, but Noct knows him well enough to hear how pleased he is. When he realizes that Noct has settled back down, he takes up residence on Noct’s chest, laying his cheek against his breastbone. His head is a welcome weight, bringing Noct back to earth without holding him down. Noct raises a hand and idly strokes it through Ignis’s hair. Ignis sighs, “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Noct’s exhausted, and that’s the majority of what he’s feeling at the moment. But he’s content as well, and he still can’t quite believe that he’s been lucky enough to end up here and now, sharing a bed with Ignis in the city they’ve reclaimed.

“Specs,” he breathes.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

Ignis’s clever fingers glide lazily along the staircase of Noct’s ribs. “Of course,” he hums.

Noct smiles into the darkness of their bedroom. “I think I love you,” he says.

He can feel it when Ignis smiles against his chest. “I certainly hope so.”

That’s how Ignis leaves it, and he shifts closer to Noct, getting as close as he can without being completely on top of him. The soft rhythm he’s playing along Noct’s ribs slows to a near stop, devolving into gentle caresses. Noct lets his eyes fall closed, feeling relaxed at last. The old aches in his muscles seem far away now, and the older aches in his heart mean little when he’s got Ignis atop his heart, keeping it safe.

Before he drifts off to sleep, though, Ignis murmurs something into his skin, so softly that it’s almost lost in Noct’s heartbeat: “I love you too, Noct.”

Noct hears it, though, and he smiles; it’s a good thing to fall asleep to.

He holds on to that, and he lets sleep take him at last.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://triplehelix.tumblr.com) if you'd like to chat! :)


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